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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27680531">In Which He Almost Smiles</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/affenlight/pseuds/affenlight'>affenlight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blood of Zeus (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, First Love, Fluff, Forbidden Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:56:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,666</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27680531</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/affenlight/pseuds/affenlight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re round where he’s broad, a lamb where he’s a wolf, sweet where he’s bitter. </p><p>But Hera grows fond of the nigh impossibility of it all—a bloodthirsty demon lord and a maiden who loves bread and rubbing her Papa’s feet.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Heron (Blood of Zeus)/You, Heron/Reader, Seraphim (Blood of Zeus)/You, Seraphim/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>153</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m going to marry a prince,” you said as-a-matter-of-factly.</p><p>Your two friends at the well nearly shrieked with sudden, hysterical laughter.</p><p>“You!”</p><p>Dyope, the girl you commonly traded herbs with, threw her long dark braid over her shoulder, blinked her pretty blue eyes at you.</p><p>“Every<em> single</em> time I ask you to come away to the city with me at night, you just—“</p><p>“Just <em>what </em>?” You finished, narrowing your eyes.</p><p>But you knew <em>what.</em></p><p>The mere thought of men terrified you—their salty stench, bulging muscles. There was something in their wide, calloused hands, something in their drawled tales of war, and heavy, dangerous eyes that alarmed you.</p><p>But a prince? Princes always held a faraway, mystic charm; tantalizing charisma. They tended to be educated and wise, polite, and modest in their comings and goings. Forget the dusty shepherd boys and washed up noblemen.</p><p>A prince was what you ultimately fancied—even with your clumsy grace.</p><p>Lya, all tall blonde and bone, latched ahold of you and pulled you to your feet, laughing at your squeal of annoyance.</p><p>It was as if she were presenting a certain fact, gesturing widely to your small, diminutive frame, cutely shaped with stubborn baby fat.</p><p>“Of course she won’t go to the city with you, just look at her!”</p><p>Lya gives your plump little arms a doting pinch.</p><p>“She’s just a baby—a virgin calf! Although...”</p><p>Her hands gave your breasts a quick squeeze of emphasis.</p><p>“Y/N’s always done well <em>here</em>.“</p><p>You shoved her off of you, whining a foul word.</p><p>“And here!”</p><p>She jabbed a bony finger at your rump.</p><p>“Stop it!” You squealed.</p><p>The two of them were nearly falling to the ground with laughter, and you felt the familiar sting of water in your eyes.</p><p>Warmer hands found your shoulders then and rubbed at them affectionately.</p><p>“Now that’s enough, Lya. Dyope your laugh is shriller than a crow’s.”</p><p>Dyope’ red mouth, pulled back to show her pearly teeth, snapped shut. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms.</p><p>You looked up into the tired eyes of your childhood friend, Mina.</p><p>She smiled at you and pinched the pointed tip of your chin.</p><p>“Y/N can marry a prince if she so pleases.”</p><hr/><p>He had just finished bathing.</p><p>Were you here to mock him? Here to steal from him?</p><p>Seraphim sneered lowly, allowing his fanged canines to glisten in the daylight. He was still soaking wet from the stream, drawing up his jerkin with a tight yank before starting his approach.</p><p>The giggling and the laughing.<br/>You, the girlish thing running around his chimera, skewering lilies and wildflowers onto its jagged horns.</p><p>The beast lied on its side, back legs outstretched, wings splayed out, tongue lolling playfully as you fed him another apple.</p><p>Seraphim continued his stride, swift and indignant, a dark blotch emerging from the greens, yellows, and whites of the mid-spring mountainside.</p><p>What were you? A nymph come to spite and curse him with some strange forest magic? It had happened before, green female figures spitting wasp stings onto him, winding biting ivy over his feet, attempting to poison his chimera with black apples.</p><p>Seraphim seethed at you.</p><p>No more.</p><p>A low whistle flit through the air and his bident snapped into his palm.</p><p>No <em>more.</em></p><p>“Die, nymph.” He snarled, raising the weapon over his head, a ray of sun catching the tip in a deadly glint.</p><p>With a sudden whoop, you fell onto your back, sputtering with even more laughter when you tumbled off the beast’s back in a mock attempt to mount it.</p><p>You fell into view, (h/c) locks spilling out around you, the tip of your chin tilted upward, supple frame trembling with new laughter.</p><p>Your tiny hands covered your face as you proceeded to laugh even harder when the chimera pawed curiously at your abdomen.</p><p>Seraphim lowered his bident, muscles relaxing.</p><p>You weren’t a nymph. You were some silly village girl, trifling with what was <em>his. </em>The muscle in Seraphim’s arms tensed again, and the side of his mouth twitched upward with irritation.</p><p>In a fluid motion, the bident left his clawed knuckles.</p><p>When it sunk into the tree beside you, you hiccuped a startled yelp, tossed helplessly aside when the chimera rose up immediately to greet his true master.</p><p>Seraphim moved to stand over you, scowling with distaste as he gave you a once-over.</p><p>But your large, glittering eyes, now slitting from the bump to your head, held him with nothing more than tame merriment.</p><p>A smile laced prettily across your lips, and your little fingers reached toward your apples now spilled amidst the grass.</p><p>You held one up to him, lips whimpering some string of delirious words.</p><p>“A gleaming angel? Would you like an apple, t—,”</p><p>Seraphim barked over your offer; your sweetness wasn’t going to draw any benevolence from him.</p><p>“You have no business putting your hands on my animal. Depart. NOW.”</p><p>But he loosened his eyebrows when he saw your eyes flutter closed and your hand go limp, allowing the apple to roll back with the others.</p><p>You had fainted, some tiny maiden, fist full off lilies, head full of foolishness.</p><p>Seraphim was opening and closing his fists, biting his inner jaw and thrusting his gaze off to the side in pondering.</p><p>You were <em>familiar</em>.</p><p>And when it hit him, Seraphim was tempted to just let the bident run him through.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Lol, reader a lil’ thicc, okay?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It was some years ago, though not many.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>He definitely wasn’t from the region—some mountain barbarian from up north, perhaps.</p><p>Old man Crotius tossed his dice, rubbing his stubbly chin as he glanced back toward the well. The sullen stranger had approached, greeted by you and your friends.</p><p>And a stranger he certainly<em> was</em>. Though his skin held the typical Greek olive-bronze hue, the scar gashed over his left eye prompted most to take a step <em>back</em>. He was clothed in a mix of animal skins, some draped over his shoulder, fastened around his powerful abdominals.</p><p>There was a custom at the well in the polis, that when traveling men asked for a drink, he asked the woman he found the most <em>pleasing</em>.</p><p>It was an almost superstitious coupling practice in the hot summers. Though sometimes, it worked--new, apple-cheeked babes arriving in the spring.</p><p>“I think he’ll ask the blondish one,” sniffed the cripple, one of Crotius’s companions. He sat up from his blankets with a quick huff, pushing his game piece to a spot on the board.</p><p>“Tall fellow. She’s good for his height.”</p><p>“No,” interjected the woodsman at the stall. He tossed his dice at his turn, swiveling his head back to the well before they could land.</p><p>“Definitely the pretty black-haired thing with the blue eyes. Dyope, I think she’s called.”</p><p>The woodsman grinned his broken teeth as he looked from straight, black-haired Dyope to curly, brown-haired Mina.</p><p>“My bet’s on Miss Mina, too.”</p><p>“Ye can only bet on one!” Squawked the cripple.</p><p>“Feh,” spat old man Crotius.</p><p>“It’s obvious he’ll pick that small, rounded one there.”</p><p>He wasn’t even looking anymore, eyes fixed on the game, unbothered at the cripple’s throaty, gasping laughter, and the low, rich chuffs from the woodsman.</p><hr/><p>Lya stood soon after the stranger arrived at the well, flashing her best smile, tucking a wisp of gold behind her ear.</p><p>The man was tall, coldly handsome.</p><p>Mina smiled shyly as she stood, hands folded in front of her.</p><p>Dyope nearly knocked both to the ground in her rush forward, bumping them, teeth chewing at her red lips. She stepped in front of both of them, bowing low enough to make her risky cleavage apparent.</p><p>“Milord,” she greeted, voice mimicking honey and satin.</p><p>“Welcome to Iapolis.”</p><p>He studied her a moment, the flask of animal skin still fastened to his belt.<br/>The man’s eyes flashed to Mina next, then fell onto Lya last—lingering.</p><p>Dyope fumed inwardly; if he asked Lya, that’d put them at a tie for the week; and that meant she’d be the one paying for drinks. He was already moving toward her.</p><p> <em>Damn the bitch,</em> she hissed in thought.</p><p>Mina’s eyes flashed wide when the man left Lya’s hands empty, wordlessly striding past her and stopping in front of the last and youngest in the group--the one who hadn’t really noticed anything.</p><p>You were sitting on a rock, plucking peas out of their pods and into a basket for supper, humming some silly tune, kicking your sandals off and on.</p><p>Realizing all chatter had stopped, you glanced up for the first time, curious. The heat of anxiety hit your cheeks in a burst. There were rigid stares pointed at you from Lya and Dyope—from Mina’s eyes too, but she suddenly averted her attention, throwing up a hand to shush her soft giggling.</p><p>It all clicked when the flask fell into your lap with a sudden <em>whump</em>.</p><p>You found yourself looking into his face then, and gods be <em>damned</em>.</p><p>It wasn’t the old cobbler with his lopsided grin or that sleepy-eyed youth needing water for his ailing mother.</p><p>The man's dark hair clung to his broad shoulders, muscles flexing as he tugged off another flask and handed it to you.</p><p>His voice came, deep—direct.</p><p>“Will you fill this one, too?”</p><p>You stared stupidly at the scars dashing up and down his knuckles, more of them slashed across his arms, his tone brown thighs.</p><p>The man’s eyes held you expectantly, one heavily obsidian, the other savagely clawed away.</p><p>“Oh…,” You exhaled, blinking away your exasperation. You took the flask into your trembling hands and stood.</p><p>His eyes wouldn’t leave you.</p><p>“Of course,” you whispered, trying your darnedest to bite back your giddy panic. <br/><br/>A man had just asked <em>you</em> for a drink. A <em>man, </em>man. A man who looked like he could snap necks, a man who probably <em>had.</em></p><p>Lya stuck her tongue out nastily at Mina’s “I-told-you-so” smirk. Dyope simply plopped down in defeat, taking your spot on the rock, beginning to pick open the pea pods.</p><p>She muttered dryly to herself.</p><p>“He’s certainly no <em>prince.”</em></p><hr/><p>Back up on the hill in the stall, old man Crotius bit into an apple, not the least bit surprised as the cripple and woodsman coughed up the dracmas they owed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I also ask that you grant me this one thing.”</p><p>Seraphim’s voice rumbled low, his hell-red eyes dead-set on the goddess of marriage and family.</p><p>Hera threw her head back, the curtain of her violet tresses bouncing and swishing with the motion, her jewelry jingling.</p><p>“Hah!”</p><p>The spill and splash of the waterfall was all around them in the cave.</p><p>“And what would <em>that</em> be?”</p><p>What a cheeky mortal. </p><p>Seraphim stepped toward her, his knuckles tightening around the bident.</p><p>“I ask that you make Y/N my wife.”</p><p>Hera’s brows furrowed with derision, glossy lips pursing as she held the demon king with her eyes, unblinking.</p><p>But her features suddenly relaxed, and Hera huffed another laugh of incredulity.The Queen of the Heavens shrugged, waved her hand with a purplish haze, and it was so.</p><p>Somewhere in the countryside you were running around barefoot, laughing to the point of snorting as you chased a chicken with a stick.</p><p>You were busy living out your simple countryside existence, unaware you were wed, for all eternity, to the demon king of Melidoni, to the rightful heir of the throne of Corinth—unaware that you were a <em>queen</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>“Y/N!”</p><p>“Y/N, are you okay?”</p><p>You blinked. You were lying on your back, staring up into the dismal, cloud-blanketed atmosphere, believing you saw a black dot vanish just above it.</p><p>“Heron,” you replied. His figure was swimming in and out of focus just above you.</p><p>In a quick burst, the pretty-faced day trader bounded away.</p><p>“Stay there, Y/N, I’ll get your apples.”</p><p>You started to sit up in protest, but he shot a look at you with those impossible blue eyes.</p><p>“I said stay there, Y/N.”</p><p>It was just a dream then—after you fell and hit your head. A dream like any other, a dream where you played with chimeras and the angels who rode them.</p><p>The basket was back at your side. Cool hands brushed wild (h/c) hair from out of your puffy face.<br/>
Heron was lowering himself next to you, and you croaked something about a buzzing pain behind your eyes.</p><p>He hoisted you up to lean on him, allowing your head to fall helplessly against his chest.</p><p>“I’m taking you home, Y/N—you can’t be mad at me forever.”</p><p>You wrapped your arms and the apples around his neck and down the front of his body, satisfied by the sensation of firm back beneath you.</p><p>The last time you’d been given a piggy-back ride was seven summers ago when you were twelve—when Papa hadn’t maimed himself climbing too fast down the mountain.</p><p>“I’m not mad at you. What are you even talking about, Heron?”</p><p>You weren’t sure what gave your voice an edgy lilt—the pain in your head, or your annoyance at the question.</p><p>Wordless, you dug your chin into the crook of his shoulder, the humid tang of him growing sharper.</p><p>“I don’t care that you kissed Dyope.”</p><p>It didn’t bother you.</p><p>A hoard of demons destroyed all you knew some six months ago, burned Iapolis to the ground.</p><p>You were able to flee with your family, though, not after witnessing the horror firsthand.</p><p>The hand of your younger brother was clasped in your fist. Both of you watched people you’d known your entire mortality skewered and slashed open like rabid pigs. This, in the name of their king, in the name of their gods, the Giants.</p><p>Entrails, pools of blood, empty sacks of flour and mangled livestock lined the roads through town.</p><p>Among them was Lya, skin ashy, body gashed in two starting below her breasts.</p><p>Just outside of the crumbling city gates, as you shrieked horrible sobs into the heaven, you glanced sweet Mina splayed out lifelessly across some hay, neck snapped; discarded as if she were a piece of broken furniture.</p><p>You silently understood Dyope when she manically threw herself into her new, lonely life in the polis with no sun—when she fucked, slurped or kissed any male she deemed attractive, when she quickly gained a reputation as the new whore, when she was just a scared girl who still bawled for her mother at night.</p><p>You had unconsciously wrapped your arms tighter around Heron at the thought.</p><p>“I dreamt about a chimera and an angel,” you told him, abruptly changing the subject.</p><p>“I was giggling, laughing how I used to...before—,”</p><p>You inhaled, allowed your fingers to play with his sweat-slick curls.</p><p>“It must be an odd angel—to be riding a chimera, that is,” replied Heron.</p><p>“Would <em>you</em> ride a chimera?”</p><p>You planted a chaste kiss onto the back of his neck.</p><p>Heron scoffed, warmly squeezed your wrist.</p><p>“Gross, no.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Periander had a favorite noble. Crotius the Prudent.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I, uh...” you started.</p><p>You returned the animal skin flasks to him, watched him say nothing, snatch them away, sling one back over his tanned shoulder.</p><p>“I...,” you tried again.</p><p>His eyes darted back, rested pointedly onto your lips, roved up to your exasperated blinking, your prettily long eyelashes.</p><p>Men. <em>Men</em>—they panicked you. </p><p>You began to stare at your hands so intently that one might’ve thought the face of Hestia had suddenly appeared on them.</p><p>You turned your head, trying to look to your friends for help, but found that Lya and Dyope had their arms linked together, the pair sashaying down the street to do something else.</p><p>Mina remained though, standing under a fig, sending you an inquiring smile.</p><p>You widened your eyes to the point of exploding—allowed them to shriek to her for <em>help</em>.</p><p>She mouthed something, then gestured two fingers walking in a circle.</p><p>You mouthed back a snarling “what?”</p><p>Mina repeated it, two fingers walking in a circle, and you understood.</p><p>You ran a few through your hair, blushed wildly. Your toes became the new resting place for your eyes.</p><p>“Would you like me to show you around some?”</p><p>You slid an eye back to Mina by the tree. She nodded eagerly, but halted the motion and knitted her brows together in abrupt wonder.</p><p>When you looked back to the man, you froze.</p><p>He was walking <em>away, </em>having departed as mutely as he came. </p><p>You were guilty to say you found your body relaxing, your shoulders loosening. The look in the man’s eyes, you now deducted, had been mild annoyance; not imploring approval. </p><p>Perhaps you had been too slow with the water after all.</p><p>The myth of the well in Iapolis stood as what it was; a <em>myth</em>, nothing more.</p><p>You’d likely marry a short, sturdy shepherd boy native to the town, and have short, sturdy children who’d become humble tradesmen, tradesmen’s wives.</p><p>The tall, powerful and exotic stranger wooed by little, bread-loving Y/N was just as fantastical as the prince of Athens thundering into town on his steed to ask for her hand.</p><p>But the stranger paused some twenty feet ahead. He looked back for you, and those eyes found you with that same<em> intoxicating</em> heaviness.</p><p>He gestured yonder with his head, silently beckoning you.</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>Your walk to where he waited was breathless.<br/>
You couldn’t help it, though; the small smile creeping onto your lips.</p><p>“I suppose we can start at the trader’s corner,” you began as you approached him, confidence bubbling up and spilling over into a manic front.</p><p>It was impossible to hide it, now. You were positively <em>beaming</em>.</p><p>“I can also show you, FFWUH!—,”</p><p>Your tripped over your sandal, compliments of Eris.</p><p>But instead of splattering onto the gravel, he steadied you, observing the way you fumbled pathetically onto his arm, a beam of iron, for support.</p><p>“Take your time.” He spoke, only the second thing he’d uttered. </p><p>Back at the well in the center of town, Dyope and Lya wandered up to the tree where Mina stood.</p><p>Lya skipped up to her, rested her chin on the brunette’s shoulder.</p><p>Dyope appeared beside them.</p><p>She shook her head.</p><p>“I’ll bet you he has the loins of a stallion. Do you think he’s a demigod?” She asked.</p><p>They all watched as you walked off with the finest, strongest blessing the well had ever bestowed upon a girl—upon <em>you </em>out of all of them.</p>
<hr/><p>There was something moving through the tent flap, prompting Seraphim to step away from his maps.</p><p>“Who’s this?”</p><p>The demon lieutenant threw an old man onto the rugs.</p><p>“A leftover,” he growled, “says he wants to convert.”</p><p>The demon king smirked.</p><p>“Is that so?”</p><p>Seraphim looked the wheezing artisan over, looked over the weak, spindly legs, the trembling arms and hands dotted with liver spots. An old, diseased goat tossed into a pit of the most feral lions.</p><p>Seraphim flickered a clawed finger, summoning the bident into his fist.</p><p>“Tell me—,”</p><p>He paused, met the man’s face.</p><p>“....What is your name?” He asked first.</p><p>Crotius shifted, wiped a hand over the gash on his forehead, squinted through the blood in his eyes.</p><p>“Crotius.”</p><p>“Crotius,” repeated Seraphim.</p><p>In an easy flex, he leveled the bident to the old man’s flapping jugular.</p><p>“Tell me, Crotius. What use would I have for a flea-bitten old mutt such as yourself?”</p><p>Seraphim faced his lieutenant, countenance darkening.</p><p>“Why did you bring me this trash?”</p><p>Crotius sat up, moved the bident away from his face with a bold knock of his closed, bony fist.</p><p><br/>
Seraphim turned back to him, raised a brow, and sliced off the man’s pinky and ring finger with a simple jerk of the bident’s gleaming tip.</p><p>Crotius hissed, swore, clasped the wound with his good hand.</p><p>“The Grand Archon. She’ll need the map—,”</p><p>He sputtered out a pained groan.</p><p>“She’ll need the map to be translated by none other than Chiron.”</p><p>Crotius was slow to pick himself back up, stumbling once, but continuing until he was in a crooked, mangled stance—a dingy vulture.</p><p>“And how did you come to know this?” asked Seraphim, voice steady, unangry.</p><p>“Foolish boy!” Roared the old man.</p><p>“How do not recognize the name of your father’s own tactician?”</p><p>Seraphim stayed his weapon, and watched Crotius shove a hand into his dirty tunic. He yanked out with a golden seal pinched between his too-long fingernails. <br/>
<br/>
And there it shone, two rearing horses meeting up in the middle; the noble Seal of Corinth. </p><p><em>Crotius the Prudent</em>, Seraphim mused.</p><p>The day they murdered Ariana in the wood, he recalled his cousin with the amethyst sword vowing to find and cut down some <em>Crotius</em> next—one of the few men left from Periander’s powerful court.</p><p>Wordlessly, Seraphim returned to his maps, pleased at this fated addition.</p><p>“Get him some of the meat, a change of clothes.” He ordered the lieutenant.</p><p>The flesh of the Giants had healed <em>more</em> than just a sliced-up mortal paw.</p><p>Crotius would get over it.</p><p>A couple of underlings entered the tent and swept up the old man. He cradled his mangled hand, mouth working with low, tight grumbling.</p><p>The lieutenant gave a short nod.</p><p>“Yes, my King.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the slower updates, guys. Finals week has been brutal (,:</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The tour? It was awful.</p><p>Trying to start and keep conversation with the man was like trying to light a fire in the middle of a tempest.</p><p>There’d be a spark—his one-word answers, then the downpour would quench the flame.</p><p>Where was he from? North.</p><p>Did he travel often? Yes.</p><p>Would he like one of the apples in your basket? No.</p><p>His favorite constellation? No answer.</p><p>“I know!” You suddenly piped up, swiveling to the front of him and walking backward.</p><p>His hard eyes held you, a brow almost twitching upward.</p><p>You pointed at his face.</p><p>“I’ll bet you have your mother’s smile!”</p><p>The man blinked once.</p><p>Failure.</p><p>Your eyes dropped to your feet, your cheeks flushed, lips veering around clipped stutters as you tried to save the crumbling mood.</p><p>“O-or—,”</p><p>“My mother is dead.” He replied.</p><p>You paused, allowed your eyes to soften, allowed your hand to find the slight, gold bracelet on your wrist.</p><p>“Mine is, too.”</p><p>It wasn’t necessarily the most spritely conversation fodder, but—the way he’d paused too, let his eyes implore you to continue.</p><p>You stammered, picked at the bracelet, distractedly twirled it about like a child would.</p><p>“S-she,”</p><p>You couldn’t look at him, so you looked at your bracelet, looked at your mother.</p><p>“She mixed herbs and stuff, knew a lot of home remedies <em>her</em> mother had taught her...,”</p><p>You flicked at the bracelet, spotted your minuscule reflection in the gold.</p><p>“My mother, ah...she wasn’t a physician, but years ago a plague ravaged this place. She was able to ease people’s symptoms and sufferings until an actual physician arrived from the city.”</p><p>You pulled at the bracelet, ran your fingers around the fastening.</p><p>“But it took him three days to get here, and she uh...fell ill from helping people.”</p><p>The man hadn’t shifted his attention anywhere else.</p><p>“And, um—yeah,” your voiced cracked.</p><p>Oh gods, no. Were you going to cry in front of the man? No, you <em>were</em> crying in front of the man.</p><p>This.</p><p>This is why no one asked you for water.</p><p>Right now, he could be having the climax of his life in an alleyway with Dyope.</p><p>But, no. He was stuck with you, your trembling lips and your quick tears.</p><p>You tried to speak, but his hand fell atop your head then, it’s callouses brushing a little into your soft hair.</p><p>“Your mother sounds like a kind woman—just as mine was.”</p><p>A man was <em>touching </em>you. The world was no longer making sense. <br/><br/></p><p>You stepped back from him with a forced, rabid smile.</p><p>He was taken aback. It was remarkable—the speed in which you started to laugh, suddenly assailed by snorts and shoulders quivering with merriment.</p><p>“What am I doing! I’m crying and telling you about my Mum when I haven’t even shown you the stables and the pond!”</p><p>Boldly, you grabbed his hand and pulled him along like you would any other.</p><p>“I’m so foolish, sometimes—,” you laughed.</p><p>Yes, you were; alarmingly childish and naive, too.</p><p>But Seraphim was in love for the first time.</p><p>And the last.</p><hr/><p>You noticed it right after Heron walked you back.</p><p>“Gorgi,” you whispered.</p><p>Your kid brother Gorgias stirred on the buck pelt, face crinkling in his sleep.</p><p>“Gorgi!”</p><p>You jabbed at him with your big toe.</p><p>Gorgias woke with a start, rubbed his eyes.</p><p>You sat back down at the table and continued to stare one trembling hand, rotating it about.</p><p>“It won’t go away!” You hissed.</p><p>The boy pulled himself to his feet and shuffled over, a hand continuing to dig into an eye.</p><p>At the slight table, his too-big green-blue eyes found your right hand with concern, followed it back and forth to the candle where you continued to shake it, wring it.</p><p>But there was nothing you could do about the sudden, bluish-white gleaming band of light wound upon your ring finger.</p><p>No matter how much you kept jamming your hand into the wash basin, scrubbing until your knuckles speckled the water red, the band only seemed to sparkle more intently, shine an ache into your eyes.</p><p>“Is it a curse?” Asked Gorgias, voice hushed.</p><p>You didn’t answer.</p><p>“Should we tell papa?”</p><p>You turned to look out the open door, to look at the small, older man bent over a patch of soil, a grey braid stopping at his neck, his mouth happily chattering words to himself.</p><p>Tell him?</p><p>You flexed your right hand opened and closed, then let it fall into your lap, allowing your other hand to slap over it.</p><p>You and your small family had been chased off your lands, along with countless others, by feral humans turnt demon. Now, living from hand to mouth in an ominously clouded polis, were you really going heavy his heart with more bad news?</p><p>What would you do? Skip up to him, bounce on your heels and say:</p><p>“Papa! I know demons took away our old life, killed most of our family friends, but I wanted to let you know—I think I’m cursed now, too!”</p><p>You closed your eyes, shook your head.</p><p>“Don’t tell him. He’s got much more on his mind—,”</p><p>You paused, noting his happy quips and doting words toward the little green chutes he nourished.</p><p>“Even if it doesn’t look like it.”</p><p>As you began searching for understanding in your brother’s still round, still babyish face, you found alarm washing over his expression instead.</p><p>With a yelp, he ducked to the floor, hands over his head. A frantic, frenzied shadow had exploded into the room.</p><p>When the mass of black and feather crashed into pots and kettles, you clambered down next to Gorgias with a similar yelp.</p><p>In the sudden chaos, you could see Papa standing up from his plants to peer through the door and the silky black raven who’d landed in front of you.</p><p>It glared with strange, beady, frosty-blue eyes—let out a simple, chortling <strong><em>caw</em></strong>.</p><p>With a quick hop, and and even quicker snap of its sharp beak, the raven snatched your mother’s bracelet off your wrist and flew out the window.</p><p>“Y/N! Y/N, girl, where are you going!” Exclaimed your father.</p><p>You had bolted past him as fast as your short legs could carry you. Tears in your wide eyes, you shot him a look as you sped up the path stretching into the mountains, following the wretched, black creature.</p><p>“It took Mum’s bracelet!” You shouted back.</p><p>“Y/N, wait!” Gorgias hollered. He stood in the doorway, hopping on one foot as he tried to push his foot into a sandal.</p><p>But you’d fallen out of view, the fog thickening further up you ran.</p><p>He slammed his free sandal down into the dirt as hard as he could, pulled frustratedly at his puffy cheeks.</p><p>“Her and that damned bracelet!”</p><p>Your father sighed.</p>
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